


En Païx

by ohemdee



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: M/M, Sword Fighting, kissing but it’s a mistake, self harm mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 09:08:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25967131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohemdee/pseuds/ohemdee
Summary: “You know how to swing a sword, Book?” Nicky looked over at him, unreadable. He had sunburnt his nose at some point during the afternoon, and Booker watched it fade completely before turning back to his novel.“No.”“No!” Outrage was not the response Booker expected. “Joe! Booker has never used a sword.”
Relationships: Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Nicky | Nicolo di Genova, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 18
Kudos: 246





	En Païx

**Author's Note:**

> This was going to be two things and turned out to be neither of them.
> 
> What this does contain is one sad Frenchman, some sparring with swords and a kiss that was maybe a mistake.

It wasn’t often they had both downtime and a safe house with space, but every once in a while the stars aligned for them. Booker lounged under an overgrown apple tree, tried to read and mostly just got distracted by Andy and Joe swinging various weapons at each other, testing new techniques and honing old styles. Nicky flopped next to him, apparently bored by the showcase before him.

“You know how to swing a sword, Book?” Nicky looked over at him, unreadable. He had sunburnt his nose at some point during the afternoon, and Booker watched it fade completely before turning back to his novel.

“No.”

“No!” Outrage was not the response Booker expected. “Joe! Booker has never used a sword.”

“Bullshit.” Andy responded, blocking Joe’s swing. “The Grande Armée had sabres.”

Nicky rolled onto the ground so his head was next to Booker’s leg and stared up at him. “Did you lie to me, Booker?”

Booker set his novel aside, and stared back at Nicky, who continued to blink up at him, all sincerity. Sweet, honest, manipulative Nicky had a talent for making him feel bad every time he told a lie.

“Do you want to spar, Nicky?”

“Yes!” Nicky jumped up, spry as he was 900 years before. “I know all of Joe’s moves! And he cheats.” He started jogging back to the house. “I’ll get us swords!”

“To be clear, kissing your opponent is not cheating.” Joe let his scimitar drop to his side. He winked at Andy. “It doesn’t work on everyone though.”

Andy rolled her eyes, but let her own sword point to the ground. “Well, you have fun. I’m taking the shower.”

Nicky returned with what looked like every sword they had in the house. “Oh Booker, I didn’t know what you would like, so I brought everything.”

Booker groaned and got to his feet, walking over to Nicky to check out the weapons he had laid on the ground. He had already started warming up with his favoured practice longsword.

Joe clapped Booker on the shoulder. “You can tell him no. I can spar.”

“No, it’s fine.” Booker shook his head. “Just been, well. It’s been a long time.”

“I’ll tell him to go easy on you then.” Joe laughed when Booker glared at him.

“Nicòlo,” he swapped to Italian, “do you mind if I watch?”

“You just want to see me swing a sword around.” Nicky glanced over to where Booker was still inspecting swords. “Sebastien, you are taking so long. The one in your hand should be familiar to you.”

He wasn’t wrong. Booker weighed the sabre in his palm, giving it a couple of experimental swipes. It was beautifully made, well-balanced, and certainly higher quality than what he had been handed to march on Russia with. 

“Are you sure this is a practice-“ He got his sword up just in time to block Nicky’s swing, the clang of the metal ringing in his ears. 

Nicky danced away, using the reach of his sword to his advantage, and clearly invited Booker into his space, all while he carefully circled him like a cat.

‘Like an extension of your arm’ Booker repeated in his head, and tried to mirror Nicky’s movements. He swung, perhaps a bit wildly. Nicky easily knocked his weapon aside, and pointed his sword at Booker’s chest.

“Again.”

It didn’t take long for Booker to catch on that Nicky was holding back on him. He’d seen him in combat, watched the way he moved with his sword, and this was not that. The small smile that played over his lips, the way he let Booker get close before he moved him away- this was Nicky toying with him.

He feinted left, moved right and managed to get himself right into Nicky’s space, backing him into a corner of their little yard with his sword pressed up against his neck. Nicky’s eyes went wider, and he shifted a bit under Booker’s grasp, trying to get back into a spot where he could use his sword again.

“Non, mon ami. Yield.” Booker had no time to react before Nicky’s free hand was in his hair, pulling him in for a crushing kiss.

Booker was frozen, eyes unfocused and staring directly at Nicky’s face. He let them flutter closed for a half second before he stumbled back, nearly dropping his sabre in the process. Immediately, Nicky was on him, knocking his sword to the ground and sweeping his feet out from under him.

Laughter pealed from the sidelines, and Booker looked over at Joe, who was laid out on the ground, his body shaking with his mirth.

“Works on Booker, Joe.” Nicky let his sword drop to the side, and held a hand out to Booker to help him his feet.

Booker knocked the hand away and shoved himself to his feet. He made for the house and refused to look at either of the other men. Joe stopped laughing immediately.

“Booker?” He heard Nicky, but it sounded as if he wasn’t going to follow. “Sebastien? Wait!”

He let the door slam between them, and nearly ran into Andy. She put a hand to his chest, brow furrowed in concern. “You okay, Book?”

“Fine.” He slid past her and tried not to rush to his room. Or at least, he tried to give the impression that he wasn’t rushing. Before he managed to get a second door closed, he heard Andy yell at the two men in the yard, demanding to know what they’d done.

He ran his hand through his hair and scrubbed it down over his face. Running was probably the wrong choice, now they would definitely ask questions, and he hated questions. Nicky would bring him wine, and Joe would look at him without pity and only the understanding that a millennia of life can give someone, and he would spill his heart out because that’s what he always did.

Booker grabbed his bag out from under his bed, selected a bottle of whiskey to shove in, followed by a set of clothes, and a bundle of knives. Reconnaissance, he told himself. There had to be something nearby that they should handle. There was always something.

He sat on the edge of his bed and rested his head in his palms. A moment, nothing more was all he needed. It had been 170 years, it shouldn’t have mattered as much as it did. But it felt good to be kissed, even in jest, and Nicky was always warm and sweet, and it would have been so easy to give in if not for the stab of guilt in his gut that momentarily made his heart skip out of rhythm. He should have stopped Nicky sooner than he did, he should have enjoyed it more while it lasted, he definitely should not have run because now they were all going to be breathing down his neck for a confession until he found a suitable lie.

He grabbed his pack, wallowing temporarily put off until he could get far away, and opened the door. Nicky was sitting on the other side of the hall, legs splayed out in front of him, with his sniper look on, the one that said he was prepared to settle in for the long wait. Booker debated just closing the door again, but that meant they would probably just send Andy in.

Nicky stood, and approached him cautiously, probably reading the desire to run written all over his face.

“Can I come in?”

Booker stood aside, silently invited him into his space, and tossed his backpack to the floor beside the door. Nicky frowned at the clink it made when it landed.

“I’m sorry, Booker. I thought. Well, you go out so much on your own, always to bars, I made an assumption, and it was wrong. Andy told me, and I should not have taken that away from you. I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me, but I understand that it will take a long time.”

Booker couldn’t look at him, couldn’t dwell on the apology too much. “I-“ he managed to choke out. Great start.

Nicky’s fingers tilted his chin up, searching his face for something he wasn’t ready to give up with words. Booker leaned into his touch, perhaps a little harder than strictly necessary to get his point across. But Nicky grabbed him into a hug, and didn’t seem to care that Booker didn’t return it with the same strength.

“Oh Libricino, you wear your guilt so well.” The last time Nicky had called him that he had bled himself out somewhere near Munich, nearly 70 years before. “You don’t have to be so alone, you are allowed to seek comfort.”

Booker tucked his face into Nicky’s shoulder, and let the older man hold him for a while. Just enough that he could relax a bit in the wisdom of his words.

Eventually, he was guided to the kitchen and fed some rice concoction of Joe’s that he complained about not having any of the proper spices for, but managed to make delicious all the same. And when he found himself seated between Joe and Nicky to watch the evening news, with Nicky’s arm slung over his shoulders, and his hand held in Joe’s, Booker found the guilt that bubbled up inside started to settle to a smaller simmer. Never gone, but perhaps something that he could ignore, just for a little while.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr at [oh-emdee](http://oh-emdee.tumblr.com/). I would love, love, love to receive prompts over there!!


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